Chapter Four: Besom, Cauldron and Chalice

Just a little warning, this chapter goes a way toward earning this fic it's NC-17 rating. We're not all the way there yet, but we're close! As with the rest of The Witchhiker's Guide, the characters in this story are the property of JK Rowling, but I just like to let them run around in the yard and stretch their legs every once in awhile.

Approach with reverence, but with a certain blatant disregard for propriety. The goddess is to be worshipped with reverence, but never forget that we are pagans. Preparing the high priestess for her high priest is a sensual, earthy delight of flesh and fancy. In other words, if your smalls aren't straining, you're doing it wrong.

Chapter Four: Drawing Down the Moon, or Preparing the Goddess...The Witchhiker's Guide to Beltane

~o0o~

She is youthful or old as she pleases, she sails the torn clouds in her barque,

~Beltane Ritual

Two weeks after she dared Severus to join her and prove the naysayers wrong, Hermione entered the Room of Requirement alone. She and Severus had met a few times to discuss their roles. They had argued, and shared too many cups of tea and packets of biscuits, and they had even laughed and occasionally agreed on parts of the rituals. Now, for the first time, they were going to perform one of them: the Preparation of the Goddess, one of the two rites which would be performed in private the morning of the actual Beltane ritual.

Hermione was nervous.

The room was a black void with only a small light in the middle, like a spotlight shining from above. She was a bit disappointed; she had hoped that it would be a little more frou-frou than this. Instead, it looked like an interrogation room in the old Muggle films. All it needed was a chair, a metal table, and an ashtray overflowing with dog-ends.

The door swung open behind her, and Severus walked in, holding a small hold-all bag. He, too, looked at the scenario with puzzled displeasure. When he glanced toward Hermione, she shrugged and quipped, "Ah, there you are, Detective. I'll be good cop, you be bad cop."

He harrumphed. "Perfect casting, but I thought we were here to rehearse the Goddess ceremony, not to re-enact The Sweeney." At her raised eyebrows, he added, "I was raised in a Muggle household too, you know. It was my dad's favourite."

Hermione smiled, trying to picture young Severus sitting on an orange sofa with his dad, watching Regan swear his way through the Flying Squad. "Get your trousers on, you're nicked," she said gruffly, in a passable South London accent.

He made a surprisingly impressed face. "Not bad, Granger."

She snorted. "Typical. The first time you actually compliment my abilities, it's for imitating a 70's cop show character."

He shrugged. "Gather your compliments while ye may, Granger. I've got twenty-two third-year essays on Hinkypunks to grade after we finish. I'd like to crack on."

"Of course." As they spoke, the area transformed. The beam of light swelled, revealing a long, cathedral-type room only slightly smaller than the Great Hall. At the end where they stood, a lovely stone altar rose as if it had grown there, and it was surrounded by ancient tapestries depicting other Pagan rituals. They were faded and dusty, as if they had hung there for centuries.

Hermione gaped at the splendour of it. "Do you suppose this is an exact replica of the Knappogue altar?" she whispered, awestruck at the ancient, grounded feel of the room.

Severus shouldered past her. "Haven't a clue. And why are you whispering? Last I knew, we were the only ones here."

She was about to lecture him on the reverence of the setting, decided it would come across as both pretentious and unnecessary, and settled on following him to the altar, where he was already setting out the instruments they would need for this portion of the ceremony.

He removed a glazed ceramic bowl from his holdall, filled it with sea salt from a leather pouch, then placed it on the altar. A small dish of powdered sage was next, followed by a pewter chalice of water, a small brass pitcher of oil. He paused and flicked his hair from his eyes with a practiced jerk of his head.

As he readied the elemental representations they would use, she cleared her throat. "Something on your mind, Granger?" he asked, not bothering to turn around.

Facing his broad back, Hermione told herself to get on with it. Facing him would be much harder. "Well, it says in the Witchhiker's Guide that this is one of the two rituals we are supposed to perform in private before the rest of the participants arrive."

He ignored her as he produced three candles...white, red and black. "I have read it, you know." His beautiful, intoxicating voice rolled through the room. He glanced at her with a pleased look, as if he knew all too well the effect his voice produced.

Pain in the arse- "Well, then, Professor, you will have read that this portion of the ceremony is to be performed, er, withoutanyclotheson."

He stopped rummaging in the bag, straightened up, then turned back to her. "Would you care to repeat that, Professor?"

Hermione repressed the urge to stamp her foot. "This portion of the ceremony is to be performed naked."

"Are you afraid I'll critique?"

She forced herself to meet his flat stare. "Yes," she grumbled. To her surprise, he laughed. He had a nasty laugh, all smoke and dirt and something that tickled the inside of her thigh.

"Rest assured, Professor Granger, I'm hardly in any position to find fault with another person's physical attributes. I'm hardly an oil painting myself."

"I know, but..."

"Merlin, Granger, your lack of tact is only succeeded by your dearth of common sense. Remind me again why Weasley thinks you're the catch of the century?"

She looked up at him, furious. "Circe's sake! You don't have to be so cruel! I..." She was ready to launch into a tirade when she caught sight of his face. His smirk was vintage Snape, but his eyes... They were playfully bright, like a mischievous boy's.

Ruefully, she ducked her head, and made herself laugh with him. "Snape one, Granger nil."

He dismissed her statement with an elegant shrug of his shoulders. "Call it a draw, Professor. I'm quite impressed with your ability to reel in your self-righteous indignation. I think you've finally grown up."

She looked at him levelly. "I'm certainly no longer a student. And I hope you don't still see me that way." She glanced again at their list of instructions. "This is going to be a very uncomfortable hour otherwise."

Severus drew his cloak about his person, and regarded her thoughtfully, a small frown between his black brows. He sniffed and met her gaze with immense dignity. "No, Professor Granger. I think I can state unequivocally that I no longer think of you in those terms."

"Excellent!" she said, sounding more confident than she felt. "So, shall we, you know, get on with it?"

"As you wish." He gestured to the far wall. "Any time you're ready, Professor."

Hermione balked. "After you."

His smile was wolfish. "I don't think you've read your Witchhiker's Guide thoroughly, Professor."

"I think you'll find I have, Professor," she retorted, and pulled the book from her satchel. "The participants will be skyclad..."

"Participant. Emphasis on the singular. I am fully clothed for this part of the ritual. The High Priestess presents herself to the High Priest without clothing, in order to be venerated and consecrated by him to become the living embodiment of the goddess. The opposite is true of the cleansing ceremony. I'm undressed, you're fully clothed. But for now..." He tilted his head, a beatific look on his severe face... "it's time to get your kit off, Granger." He spun on his heel and walked to the bench.

Hastily flipping through the book to the relevant chapter, Hermione read the instructions with a sinking heart. Oh, Merlin's toejam, he was right. Taking a deep breath, she stiffened her spine. I can do this, I can do this. But if he makes some snarky remark or, Merlin forbid, laughs at me...

She thought about her old scar...the one she'd received during her fifth year from Dolohov. Over the years, she'd always worn a glamour over it, but for some reason, she didn't want to bother with it here. If she was to represent the Priestess of the Old Way, she would do it truly skyclad, scars and all.

She glanced over at Severus, who had retreated to one of the darker corners. He had changed from his standard teaching uniform of frockcoat and trousers into an old-fashioned, floor-length wizarding robe of deep, forest green. It was made of a soft, flowing material, and swirled around his ankles as if spelled to move that way. From within his hold all, he produced a crown of multi-coloured oak leaves, in the verdant colours of Spring, silver and green and white.

As Hermione removed her clothing, the light faded to a soft, rosy glow, making the room seem smaller, more intimate. She felt curiously lightheaded as she pulled her robe over her head, then removed her underwear.

For the briefest moment, they stood still, and regarded one another silently. As if unable to stop himself, Severus' black eyes traveled from her face, sweeping down to her breasts, her belly, her thighs. They reluctantly returned to meet hers again, and Hermione saw the fire spark in them, the same heat that had seared her in the Great Hall. Her body flushed as an answering blast of excitement washed over her. Oh, seven devils.

It was incredibly thrilling, and, she understood in that moment why the Priestess was supposed to be naked. If she could enthrall a powerful wizard like Severus Snape with just a glance at her nude form, becoming a goddess should be a dawdle.

In that instant, he must have realised that he was gawking, and she was watching him gawk. They stared into one another's eyes for a beat too long; then the spark was gone, and in its place was something softer, like understanding, perhaps even admiration. His thin lips quirked into a smile that held regard and a touch of wistfulness.

"Right," he said. "I'm nearly finished." He dropped his gaze as he placed the crown on his head. He adjusted it infinitesimally, then dropped his arms to his sides. Hermione stared at him until her eyes almost fell out. Magic simply radiated from him, throwing a corona of light over his entire body.

"You look...amazing," she said, her voice cracking on the last word. To her surprise, he ducked his head shyly, like a fifth-year on his first date. "No, really," she insisted, trying to hold on to that feeling that she was seeing a Severus Snape no one else had ever seen. "You're perfect."

Actually, he was more than perfect. To Hermione, he looked every inch the pagan god Cernunnos. All he needs is a set of antlers. That thought segued into the idea of a rutting Snape, taking her roughly from behind. The fantasy was so paganly erotic it left her slightly dizzy, and in that moment, it felt more like a memory. She could actually feel his hands on her hips, feel the thrust of his body into hers, the grunt of his effort as he filled her over and over...

When he looked up again, his eyes were blandly inscrutable, and Hermione was brought down to earth with a sickening jolt. The breath left her body, and for a moment, she swayed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, with a frown of concern. The thin line of whatever-it-was between them snapped, leaving Hermione feeling adrift and self-conscious.

Pull yourself together, girl! Are you in such a hurry to do something you're going to have to live down for the rest of your life? "Yes, I'm fine."

The concern changed to skepticism, then he shrugged it away. With an almost formal bow, he gestured at the altar with a large, elegant hand. "Shall we do this, then?"

She nodded, her mouth dry. "O-of course." She stepped into the open space where they would cast their circle. "I'll just wait here until you're ready, shall I?"

At his nod, they stood together, and, using her wand, Hermione drew the circle around them. She then lay her wand on the altar and picked up the Sword of Gryffindor from is ornate stand. It was monstrously heavy, but when laid in Severus' hands it looked like a toothpick.

Severus consecrated the circle with the sword, chanting in his magnificent voice, "Ye Lords of the Watchtowers of the East, ye Lords of Air; of the South, ye Lords of Fire, the West, ye Lords of Water, ye Lords of Death and Initiation, of the North, ye Lords of Earth; Boreas, thou gentle guardian of the Northern Portals; thou powerful God and gentle Goddess; I do summon, stir, and call thee up to witness our rites and to guard the Circle."

The circle's glow grew steadily brighter, and the other lights in the room dimmed until their faces were illuminated by the circle's light. At their feet Severus placed the chalice of water, the dish of sea salt, and the three candles. He reached into the small bowl and dusted his hands with sage, then anointed Hermione with eucalyptus oil. As the pungent oil threaded across her body in warm rivulets, Hermione felt truly naked for the first time.

He looked deeply into her eyes as he intoned, "This is a time that is not a time, in a place that is not a place, on a day that is not a day." His voice was silvery and soft, and she watched in fascination as magic quickened and swirled around them. It actually pushed the oil across her skin, and she marveled at this incredible wizard and the powerful magic he could call forth with just his voice.

He continued, the poetic words rising and falling in cadence. "I stand at the threshold between the worlds, before the veil of the Mysteries. May the ancient ones help and protect me on my journey." He looked at her and nodded, as if approving.

"I light three candles for the beloved Goddess of fertility and plenty... the Great Lady of Three Aspects." He passed his hand over the white candle, and it sparked into flame. "The Glorious Maiden, Goddess of youth and new beginnings, dawn and the planted seed. Goodness and the social order...the life-giving qualities of milk and semen."

The red candle glowed beneath his hand. "The Great Mother, Goddess of magic and plenty, love and knowledge. The ambiguous element of unpredictability and ritual power. The bright blood of life. Menstrual blood...the blood of first sex."

Lastly, he passed his hand over the black candle, and it flickered into life. "Dark Crone, wise Goddess of the night, death and rebirth, and the darkness that is the opposite of good...decayed blood and putrefaction."

He eyes bore into hers as his hands passed over her body. His voice was deep and breathlessly intimate. "I welcome the Goddess; she is beauty in all her forms."

Hermione shivered. Even though he was not physically touching her, she could feel the electric charge of magic sparking between his fingers and her skin. "The goddess is manifest in my Priestess, and I am her servant and consort."

He opened his eyes and she saw the reflection of power in his beautiful and fathomless eyes. Even caught up in the incantation as she was, she marveled that this wizard truly saw himself as nothing special. Here, in his swirling robes and crown of oak, with magic literally pulsing from his fingertips, Severus Snape was nothing short of spellbinding.

And they hadn't even really started the ritual yet.

He knelt before her, and bent low. To be naked and vulnerable while this dark and powerful wizard knelt at her feet was like nothing Hermione had ever experienced. She felt as much as heard his voice as his breath puffed against the top of her feet. "Blessed be thy feet, that have brought thee in these ways."

His hands close around her feet. Warm, soft lips kissed the top of each foot, first right, then left. She felt his dark hair spill over her skin like skeins of silk. She could barely breathe as Severus rose to a crouch. "Blessed be thy knees, that shall kneel at the sacred altar." His hands closed over the backs of her thighs, and he reverently kissed her knees, his lips lingering on her skin. His breath quickened, but his eyes were calm, as if in a trance.

Hermione swayed, and he placed his hand on her hip to steady her. As he straightened, his ebony eyes locked on her mons. The hand on her hip changed from supporting to a light caress, and he whispered hoarsely, "Blessed be thy womb, without which we would not be."

He glanced up at her, and his eyes flashed with emotion, even as he leaned into her and placed his mouth on her belly. Trembling from head to toe, Hermione could only stare in wonder as he leaned closer and inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring, his eyelids fluttering closed. He opened his mouth, as if trying to taste her in the air, and soft, "Ohhhh..." escaped her lips. She knew he was scenting her, smelling her arousal.

Silently, he rose to his feet and moved within a hair's breadth of pressing his body to hers. He was close enough to see the pulsing heartbeat at his throat, and smell the warm, masculine clean scent of him. As he towered over her, Hermione knew what was coming next and oh, she wanted it. To hell with the ritual, she thought.

"Hermione?" he breathed, and jolted from her desire-filled reverie, she jerked her head up toward his. He was watching her carefully, and when he licked his lips, she gasped, dying to feel his mouth against hers. He swallowed, and said huskily, "You...you're supposed to raise your arms parallel to this floor at this point."

"Wha...Oh!" Hermione nearly cringed with embarrassment. She had totally forgotten she, too, had a part to play. She meekly raised her arms out by her sides, and nodded. "Sorry."

It seemed like a small forever before he moved. Finally, he lifted his hands, and as gently as if he were picking up the most delicate of potions ingredients, he cupped her breasts. His hands were warm, and calloused and soft all at once in all the right places, and it felt as if he had been made to hold her, and she made to be held by him. For a moment, all she could do was remain still. She was afraid if she moved, he would take his lovely hands away and she would just have to hex him for that.

His voice shook as he rasped, "Blessed be thy breasts, formed in beauty." And then it happened. He leaned forward and touched his lips to the top of her breasts, and a huge shiver started at the top of her head and jittered through her body down to her feet. Her core welled with desire, and though it wasn't in the ritual, she softly stroked his silken black hair.

His hands gently squeezed her breasts as each was kissed slowly, reverently, and she silently begged him to continue, to lower his head more and find the already taut nipple that waited for him, begged for his mouth...

He released her breasts, his fingers grazing across them as he lowered his hands. She twitched a little when he placed her palms on either side of her head, and lifted her head to his. Against her lips, he whispered, "Blessed be thy lips that shall utter the Sacred Names." His mouth was soft, and warm, and he kissed her chastely. She sighed against his mouth, and he moved against her lips with innocent tenderness that turned her knees to jelly.

The kiss grew deeper, and her arms were around his shoulders before she could think. For an eternal, perfect moment, their lips fused and moved against one another. He suckled against her mouth and she silently begged for more. A soft breeze stirred their hair, moving around them like a teasing whirlwind. It was the magic he had called forth, and it answered him as the god and goddess joined the ritual, and in that split second, something shifted.

Later, Hermione would try to put her finger on exactly how it felt; her notes the next day were filled with descriptions. Like being in the back seat of a car while someone else drove. Being in a dream and having no control over your actions or movements. Using mutual Legilimency with another person. It was none of those, but all of those.

In that moment, she was watching outside herself and she and Severus met in a fiery embrace, their mouths fused together in lustful passion, and when he delved into her mouth with a deep, growling moan of desire, she surrendered, forgetting about everything around her but his warm mouth, his demanding, velvet tongue. She returned his kiss with every skill she could claim, and his arms tightened to the point of breathlessness.

Slowly, so slowly, he pulled away, kiss by tender kiss, until she was panting, clutching his shoulders as if she would never let go. With something like his trademark smirk, he took her lower lip between his own and licked. When she gasped and pressed against him, he chuckled, and to her amazement, he knelt at her feet. His hands slid down her ribs, making her shiver.

Looking up at her with a wicked gleam in his eye, he purred, "I invoke thee to descend upon the body of this thy servant and priestess. I lowly bend before thee, I adore thee to the end, with loving sacrifice thy shrine adore. O Mighty One, descend to aid me, who without thee am forlorn."

He pressed his forehead against her womb, then looked up at her, his gaze full of desire and need. He took her hands in his and kissed them softly, and Hermione was grateful that she was not required to speak during the ceremony. She couldn't have threaded two words together at that moment to save her life.

Then, with a snap, she was back inside herself, and Severus was pulling away, a look of stark surprise on his angular face. Gracefully, he rose to his feet, and the room's rosy light changed to a colder, brighter one.

"Um, was it just me, or did you have a..." she stopped and shook her head to clear it.

Severus opened his mouth to reply, then shut it, frowning in confusion. "I don't know what I had, but yes, something definitely happened." He looked down at his robe, and flushed at the obvious erection. "I apologise," he said, looking miserable. He shook his head and turned to go. "This was a mistake."

"No, Severus, please!" Hermione caught his arm and pulled him back to face her, but he would not meet her eyes. "This is a fertility ritual," she said, pleadingly. "I think if..." she nodded briefly toward his crotch, "...that didn't happen, we wouldn't be doing this properly."

Reluctantly, he raised his humiliated gaze to her. Hermione drew closer; her libido would not let her keep her distance. "Actually, I'm really flattered." When he shot her a look of warning, she hastily added, "And relieved. I was afraid I, well, wasn't exactly..." She looked down at her body, grimacing at the scars, the ugly bits, the tracks of the oil he'd poured over her. "I'm the one with the less than perfect bum and the scars on show. If anyone has any call to feel humiliated, it's me."

Long fingers pressed beneath her chin and raised her face up to his. "Don't be daft, witch," he said, softly. "You're..." he flushed. "You're perfectly lovely."

"Thank you, Severus." She watched him warily, thinking, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "The way you kissed me made me feel like a goddess." He lowered his head and muttered something."What was that? I didn't quite hear you," she said.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I said, 'You don't need me to be a goddess'."

She shot him a coy look. "Well, you did enjoy it though, didn't you? Just a little?" She held up her thumb and forefinger to indicate.

He stared at her, then his eyes narrowed. "Are you trawling for compliments, Granger?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I have never been kissed by a High Priest before and, well..."

"Well?"

A smile danced on her lips. "Well it was very enjoyable kiss."

"I am kissing a goddess," he quipped, his smirk firmly back in place. "I thought it might be wise to bring my A-game."

Rita Skeeter had to duck out of the Ministry's press conference early, so she flagged down one of her fellow Prophet reporters to find out all the goss. He'd already started boring her before he even launched into the story. Ministry to re-establish values blah blah blah... Hogwarts to host first Beltane in umpteen years blah blah blah... Ministry sending out leaflets on how to throw a Pagan Party blah blah blah...

She waved her hand dismissively. "Typical Ministry propaganda. Hardly worth sending out the Prophet's ace reporter."

One of her rivals caught up with them. "Oi, Skeeter! You planning on covering the Hogwarts story?"

She snorted. "Yeah, right! Like I have time to watch a bunch of flabby old witches glomping around a bonfire to the tune of I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside. Not half."

"Even though Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are the High Priestess and High Priest?"

Rita kept walking. "Those two? Also rans, the pair of 'em. Granger's a dried up old spinster and Snape? Well, I've cornered the market on him, haven't I?" Several other reporters around them laughed raucously. "To tell the truth, I'm more interested in that new Quidditch seeker for Ireland. I've heard he's got a lovely little bird nested in a Mews in London, while wifey sits at home in Killarney knitting her own yoghurt and growing her own corduroy..."

She continued to laugh and chat with the others, throwing them off the scent, and by the time she returned to her desk her mind was whirling with ideas. Her Arithmancer had predicted that there was a forty-one percent chance that some sort of story between Granger and Snape would break this week, and this was exactly the kind of scoop she was hoping for...one with plenty of scope for exploitation.

An hour later, she was swearing under her breath and ready to start throwing hexes. Her problem was that reporters were not allowed at Hogwarts for any of the preparations, and even after calling in every favour she had, she could find no Floo access, no Portkey, no Apparation point available to get her in there. It didn't do to look too eager about it; Merlin knew there were other reporters who would slit their first-born's throats to get a good story out of this.

She was so wrapped up in the percentages of ensuring a way into Hogwarts, Rita didn't see the hooded figure slink into her office until he had slammed the door behind him.

Not one to give into intimidation, Rita showed him the business end of her wand and hissed, "Back off, creep! I know how to use this."

"Put away your wand, Rita. You can barely light your fags with it," said the figure in a low voice. "I didn't come 'ere to do you mischief. I'm here to do you a favour." The man removed his hood; Rita froze in recognition, but quickly recovered.

Leaning back in her chair, willing her heartbeat to return to normal, Rita straightened her shoulder pads and jutted out her chin. "Well, well. To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Filch?"

She and the Hogwarts caretaker regarded one another silently. Argus Filch was a tall, thin man, with long, stringy hair and a chip on his shoulder visible to the naked eye. He was dressed in faded tweeds, clean but worn, and large black dragon-hide boots. Even at his age he was still an imposing man. For a Squib.

Filch looked at her slyly. "I thought you might be interested in some information. An exclusive to Rita Skeeter. A chance to report from the heart of Hogwarts before anyone else. I can get you a front row seat...for the right price."

"How exactly would you do that? And why?" she asked, intrigued in spite of herself. Filch had always been strictly under her radar, but he had access to every part of Hogwarts...

He shrugged. "I can sneak you in."

She snorted. "I'm perfectly capable of sneaking myself into Hogwarts," she lied. "You'll have to do better than that..."

"They're doing some pretty out-there stuff in this ritual, you know. I've seen the scripts."

"What kind of out-there stuff? And you haven't answered my question. Why are you doing this?"

He scoffed, and fixed her with a baleful eye. "Let's just say that there are plans. Special rites that special people will be performin'. I'm saying I can get you into the private areas. What you do when you're there is up to you, as long as you leave me out of it. It's more than me job's worth if you get caught."

Something about his furtive, not-quite explanation set her antennae to its highest sensitivity setting. "I won't get caught. You just tell me where I need to go and what's going on; I'll do the rest."

Filch looked smug. "It won't be cheap, mind you."

Rita cancelled the wards. "I need to get my boss in here." Whatever the price, Perby would pay it.

Moments later, the fifty-percent down payment had been made, and Rita had confirmed her instructions to meet Filch at Hogwarts during the Spring Hols.

After the caretaker had gone, Rita turned to her boss. A smile slunk over her lips. "That's the angle, isn't it, Perb? What's Snape doing? Re-enacting Dark Revels? Using the Gryffindor Princess to resurrect You-Know-Who?"

Perbody Smoklehouse, a monstrously fat wizard who had been printing half-truths, speculations and downright lies when Rita was still in nappies, snorted derisorily. Wheezing like a pipe organ, he mumbled, "You're gonna have to tread lightly, Rita, my darling. This is the Ministry we are talking about. They've obviously put a lot of time and money into making this a success."

She gave him a wide-eyed, earnest look. "All the more reason for us to expose the scandal and corruption that may be lurking within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, leading our young people astray, seducing them with these Dark Revels." She put a confiding hand on his arm. "The Ministry will be relieved to know the truth, Perby. This might just earn you that Order of Merlin you've been hoping for."

Smoklehouse gave her a randy look of greed. He had always said gossip was the one true lust in the world. "You may have a point, my dear. Nevertheless, you be careful. Quiet as a mouse. Quick in, quick out." He shook his head with a frown. "I just can't make myself believe that Minnie McGonagall would allow Snape to do somefink that radical right under her nose, though, Rita. I just can't believe it."

Rita stroked his arm soothingly. "You don't have to, Perby darling. The point is whether or not Wizarding Britain believes it." She sat back, her hands shaking with excitement. "Can you imagine what the public will do when I break the story that Snape is using this Ministry-sanctioned Beltane ritual, not to mention Miss Perfect-War-Hero Hermione Granger, to bring back the Dark Lord?"

Smoklehouse laughed darkly, but shook his head. "It's the kind of scoop we all pray to the newspaper gods for, Rita darling, but you'll never make it stick."

"Oh, I don't have to make it stick," she cooed, her mind already whirling with copy, print size and column lengths. "I just have to throw it on the wall. By the time I'm finished, Wizarding Britain will be more than ready to glue it there themselves."